Photo Woes.

Blogger does not like the format of the photos from the new camera. Apparently they taste funny. I can publish photos but the text around them disappears, including titles. It's an intermittent problem, and one that I am not willing to spend too much time fixing, and it takes a lot of time to fix it. So I need to think about my alternatives to share photos.

I love the camera, but my computer doesn't - the hard drive grinds like it's launching the space shuttle (which finally went up today, fourth - or is it fifth? - time's the charm or something) if I just open the folder containing the photos. It's hard to organize them, it's hard to search, it's a general pain in the ass.

So no photos. Tomorrow when I am fully caffeinated and not dulled by hours of running errands in the heat and the cool adult beverage needed to recover from running said errands, I will see if I can make pictures appear. I'm really pissed about this situation and ready to hie my heiney to the Apple store at the mall and come home with a shiny new Mac, because it does pictures without a friggin' court order, but I am determined to sell the armoire that looms over the living room before dropping bucks on a Mac. It will not be a quick and painless transition - more like an amateur organ transplant via instructions in Klingon.

So I can't show you cute pictures of the rug Dudley ate. He ate the rug. It was just a throw rug from Target, about $40, near the front door, but still - he has made us seriously question his claims of being a Big Dog Now.

We have been testing his big dogness, because when Girl gets a job downtown and I am working my ass off 10 hours a day, Dudley will have to be at home for long stretches of time. We hate to leave him in his crate that many hours, and during the day he is usually a perfectly well behaved young gentleman, snoozing on the couch and never disturbing a thing. I do not want to crate an active young dog that many hours - if nothing else, I want him to be able to go from the couch to the cool tile floor, get a drink of water, and watch for the mailman, and enjoy his day while we are not there. And during the day this is okay.

But this was different - it got dark and though lights were on in the house no humans were home. And this was not right, because the dog has his routine and it involves Grandma and TV and then bed and dammit, where was Grandma? Terriers aren't laid-back hounds who go to sleep when nothing more interesting is going on, they are OCD dogs, they know the routine of the household, change it at your peril. Or the rug's peril.

The scene of the carnage was clear - two mauled chewies on a mauled rug. We don't need Monk for this one. The chewies were the first target of his stress, but then, the rug, it slipped (it's a throw rug) it made a scuffly noise as he flailed around on it, whatever it did, it moved, or talked trash, or something, and he began working on it instead of the chewie. And I came home to a carpet crime scene, and a frantic dog celebrating my return from the dead. (Murphy was glad to see me too, but he's 6. He worries that I won't come back, but at the same time assumes that he'll be okay either way. Because he's Murphy, and Everybody Loves Murphy.)

Murphy is now officially a Porky Yorkie. He's 10.5 pounds! That is fat. Again, we don't need a detective. It's too hot for walkies, and he learned to love treats because Dudley loves treats and he's competitive. Murphy never ate between meals until Dudley joined the household, and Dudley is a skinny thing who can consume treat calories without gaining an ounce. It is your classic skinny/fat roommate scenario. So Murphy is a round little teddy bear, and I have to cut back on the treats and substitute diet dog treats. And yes, they do exist - the vet gave him a couple of Lean Treats and he wolfed them down without his usual suspicious sniffing, so they must be good.

Today is Boy's 26th birthday. I sent him a check, because, hello, this is what we all really want, and he was most appreciative, but he also wants hand-knit socks, so I guess I have to get off this flat things kick.